Rather Fond of Option B
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: There are many sides to being a wizard. Good sides, bad sides, in the middle sides, which aren't really sides at all. These are unconnected one shots about the various aspects of belonging to a magical community.
1. In Love With James

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 3, moonstruck. **_

_**Also for the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesome'. (History of Magic Challenge, Option B., House Hufflepufff, Wand Currently Being Withheld.) Please, mods, I could love to get my full score. **_

….

_March 8__th__, 2022_

_3.13 pm _

_Dear James, _

_I know we've had our differences over the years, but I really do think it would be best if we…._

_Listen, I think it would be wise if we….._

_I mean, we'll be leaving next year, and I don't want to walk away from you on a bad note….._

_Just…god, Potter, why do you have to make everything so difficult? Why can't I just say what I want to say to you? Why can't I just admit that you make me feel special? Merlin, I hate this! I hate having to hide how I feel, just because you've got a girlfriend, and she's cute and funny and…._

_Elise is a nice girl. Really, she _is _a wonderful girl; I'm not just saying that. I don't want to ruin what the two of you have, but it just makes it so hard, being around you when I know it should be _me _holding your hand, and kissing you in front of everyone. I….it's hard being around you, because Elise is just so sweet, and it makes it that much harder to be jealous of her. _

_It's a good thing I'm too shy to send these to you. I'd never live to see the day, if everyone found out about my crush on you. _

….

_March 16__th__, 2022 _

_7.22 pm_

_James, _

_I've decided that, since this is the only way I'll ever be able to get my feelings out, I might as well continue writing to you. After all, what are the odds you'll ever find this particular set of notes? Certainly you won't; I'm keeping them all hidden in a secret area of my trunk, one that no one else knows about. _

_I don't mind that, most days, you don't seem to notice me. I really, really don't. After all, you have all your buddies, and your girlfriend, and Quidditch, and school to focus on. And who am I, except some lowly Slytherin who is completely moonstruck. Besotted. In love, head over heels-whatever you want to call it, that's what I am. I'm crazy in love, and I don't know what to do, because all I can do is sit here and watch you play Quidditch, and wink at Elise like you're hiding something. Something only the two of you are privy to. _

_I feel like I'm never going to get this sort of opportunity with anyone else. I've had a strange connection with you, even if you don't feel the same. No one seems to have noticed me, the quiet, tiny Slytherin that just sits in class and doesn't do anything. I know you know I exist-you're friends shoved me in the hallway last week, and you told them to stop-but I just can't think of any way of making you truly _notice _me for who I am. _

….

_March 30__th__, 2022_

_11.12 pm _

_I feel like I ought to just come out and say it, like at a support group. I can imagine it now, just standing up in the middle of breakfast and shouting, "My name is Casey, and I'm in love with James Potter!" Can you imagine if happened? Would you be embarrassed? I would be, if someone did that to me. If someone declared their love for me, I would be embarrassed. _

_Please, please, please. I'm begging you, James. I'm _begging _you. What you told me today….what you said to me, I don't want to hear those words ever again. I can't stand hearing those words. "No". You told me "No", without even considering my feelings. You told me "I have a girlfriend", and you said, "I'm not interested, Casey." And I feel insane for saying this, but I don't believe you. Your eyes seemed to want me. _

_Or maybe I'm just desperate for you. Desperately in love, desperately craving to be with you, forever. Like I said, I'm moonstruck, James. You're not getting rid of me. I know that sounds weird, but I'm a Slytherin; we're ambitious and we get what we want. Even if what we want is something we oughtn't to have. _

….

_May 14__th__, 2022_

_8.33 pm_

_I haven't written in a while. I was hurt and upset. I'm angry, because all I can do is sit here in silence with stupid parchment and stupid quills. Just a lonely Slytherin, trying desperately to get over a stupid crush. Is that it? Is that why you don't love me, because I am a Slytherin and you are a Gryffindor? Would it be different, if I was a Hufflepuff, like Elsie? Or a Ravenclaw, or a Gryffindor? What can I do to make you notice? What can I do to make you care? _

_Even if you don't love me….I want you to know who I am. I want you to know me as more than just Casey the Slytherin who was foolishly, hopelessly in love with a boy. I just want you to understand that I'm in love with you, but I want to be your friend as well. It's just….hard to be me. Hard to spend your entire life seemingly invisible. _

….

_May 11__th__, 2022 _

_1.10 pm_

_My name is Casey, and I'm in love with James Potter. _

_My name is Casey, and I am in love with a boy. _

_My name is Casey, and I am proud of who I am. _

_My name is Casey, and you cannot take away that part of me. _

_My name is Casey, and I am going to tell the whole world how I feel. _

_My name is Casey, and I am going to be noticed. _

_My name is Casey, and I am going to tell James Potter how I feel. _

_My name is Casey, and I am showing James Potter these letters. _

_Today. _

….

_May 13__th__, 2022_

_8.57 am _

_Casey, _

_Listen, man, this has to stop. I've got a girlfriend, and I'm fine. I know you like me, but this is going too far. I'm sorry….I'm just not into you that way, you know? You should go find a nice boy, be happy with _him_. But, not me. I'm just not that way. You understand, right? You're a good guy, a buddy, but I'm not interested. Listen, it's got nothing to do with you being another guy. I don't mind-but I'm not like that. Sorry. I don't mean to offend you-you seem like a decent enough bloke. But, really, you've been acting really off these past few months, and I don't want you to take things the wrong way. I'm just trying to say, I'm not interested in you; I'm not interested in that sort of relationship. _

_We could have been friends. _

_-James _


	2. She Was Broken, Running

_**Written for the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Wide Competition of Awesome'. (Defense Against the Dark Arts Challenge, Strategy 3, House Hufflepuff, Wand Currently Being Withheld) Please, mods, if I could get my full score. **_

_**Also written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 101, my worst nightmare. **_

_**This piece contains parts of the song 'London Bridge is Falling Down', by Peter Bradley Adams. Alys is a character of J.K. Rowling's. I own absolutely nothing. **_

….

_"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold."- William Butler Yeats_

….

_London Bridge is falling down  
London Bridge is falling  
My lady fair where are you now  
Cause London Bridge is falling. _

….

She was running. She was running, she was running. She was always running, feet pounding on stone, breath coming heavy and shallow in her lungs as she sprinted down one corridor and then another. She wanted to stop, wanted to pause, but there was only terror behind her, a terror she didn't want to face. She didn't want to turn around and see what was following her, the shadows in the night that smiled so cruelly as they cornered her, until she could only scream in pain. And, so she ran, and she ran, and she ran. Fear gripped her as she went from door to door, tugging and begging for someone to _please _let her in, before the monsters got her. But there was never any answer, just thick silence that sealed her fate, thick nothingness that pushed her away, sobbing. She continued to run, upstairs and downstairs, searching for a way out, a way to hide from the monsters.

"Alys." The voices of terrible, awful monsters call out to her, begging her to turn around, because they only want to play. They only want to play games with sharp knives and wands that cast painful spells; they only want to hurt the young Hufflepuff as she ran, ran, ran away. Alys fled, hearing their footsteps, hearing the clattering of tools that they carried to hurt her. They wanted to kill her, to twist her hair and cut it all off, and bruise her delicate skin. They wanted to scratch at her eyes, and poke at her freckles, and mostly, they wanted her to cry. The terrible monsters that wouldn't stop coming for her, the ones that wanted a corpse, a broken girl.

….

_Build it up with wood and clay  
London Bridge is falling  
But wood and clay may wash away  
All gone before the morning._

_Build it up with bricks and stone  
London Bridge is falling  
But bricks and stone won't last alone  
They'll crumble 'fore the morning._

….

Alys Finch was the sort of girl who had been born terrified. She hated being called out in class, even if she knew the answer, because a dark thought that she had somehow _m_essed up would creep through her, until the twelve year old was left only able to mumble incoherently, and apologise for messing up. She was shy, anxious, and didn't seem able to avoid the horrors of having been born with the sort of face that people just want to call out on her. Teachers seemed immediately drawn to the young girl, their eyes searching her out when it was time to answer a question. And when things went wrong, Alys was the first person who they asked.

She was not a strong girl, not mentally, and certainly not physically. She cried easily, she broke down often, and the other girls in her year, despite being Hufflepuffs, did not seem quite sure what to do with her. It didn't help that they were in the middle of a war, and poor Alys hadn't seen her Muggle father in months. The other girls tried to comfort her, waking up in the night to hug the slight girl, kissing her cheeks and telling her she would be okay. They were there for each other, like a Hufflepuff ought to be, but she still didn't seem to be able to smile. There were permanent tears in her eyes and on her face, and Alys walked with her eyes down.

The Carrows beat her at night, though she had never mentioned that to anyone. After all, the Carrows beat everyone, punishing students left and right, often for no reason at all. The Carrows used whips and their wands, and sometimes, just words. Laughs and taunts, calling her weak and dirty-blooded, and useless. Mocking her house and her heritage. Alys cried profusely, which is what they wanted, and she bled, which is what the Carrows craved. They had found a weak young girl, and she spent her nights in pain, and her morning quiet. The Carrows, and their Slytherin cronies, seemed to eagerly search out students like Alys Finch, who so desperately tried to run away, but couldn't. The Professors Carrow, her darkest nightmares, they had so quickly overtaken. When she finally fell asleep, it was only to dream of dark corridors and awful monsters that would not leave her alone.

….

_Build it up with iron and steel  
London Bridge is falling  
But iron and steel will bend and reel  
And break before the morning_

Build it up with shiny gold  
London Bridge is falling  
But soon the gold will all be stone  
And lost before the morning

….

Alys was running, but it wasn't in a dream. She was running away from the Carrows and their horrible weapons, the maniacal grins on their faces permanently etched into a twelve year old's mind. She was broken, she was so horribly broken, like a doll that could not smile. A wand that could not cast spells, a car that would not run. She was broken, and she was running, running, running, from the whips, from the wands, from the words. She hurt all over, her arms bleeding, but she kept going, because she knew that to stop would only bring more pain. There was no way of escaping, but she ran anyway, because it was the only thing she could do. She was broken, falling apart, her center was gone. There was nowhere else to run. There was nowhere else to run. Only pain behind her, only sadness and hurting and harshness. She was going to die at this school, Alys knew, and she stopped running.

They had won, she had stopped running.

….

_London Bridge is falling down  
London Bridge is falling  
My lady fair where are you now  
Cause London Bridge is falling_

My lady fair where are you now  
Cause London Bridge is falling


	3. Stupid Granger

_**For the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum-Wide Competition of Awesomeness' (Astronomy Challenge, Option B, House Hufflepuff, Wand Currently Being Withheld.) Please, mods, I would like to receive my full score. **_

_**Also written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 7, green with envy. **_

….

If there was one thing Su Li hated, it was being helped. She was a Ravenclaw, which meant she was supposed to be smart enough to carry herself in any lesson; she had to be intelligent enough to follow and understand any coursework she was given. She never, ever asked for help, no matter how much she needed it; Su was a Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart enough to work out their own problems, instead of relying on others to carry them. Su Li studied all of her course material, even going so far as to study some of the above-level material, knowing that she _had _to be number one in her year; number two wasn't good enough. Her father had made that clear even as she stepped onto the train her very first year, and Mr. Li's words had resonated in Su's head ever since.

And Su Li _would _have been number one, except for one teensy little problem: Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Muggleborn. Granger seemed to score just a _little _higher on every exam, learn spells just a _little _faster, and she did it all with a smug smile on her face that made Su want to smack her. Hermione Granger was better than Su Li, and it seemed like she wasn't even trying. It had become a subconscious contest between the two fourth years, who were constantly trying to one up the other every time there was an exam. Su studied for hours, memorizing entire books of information, only to be handed a 309% whereas Hermione had gotten a 312%. She _hated _being second best, being anything less than absolutely perfect. Although she would never admit it, Su was green with envy.

As Su walked primly into that evening's Astronomy class, more than a little breathless from having fallen asleep while studying in the library and having to run all the way to class, she noticed that the only seat left was-_of course_-to the left of Granger; the bushy-haired girl sat quietly, doing her work as the two idiots next to her (Potter and one of the Weasleys) goofed around with their own telescope. This meant that Su was going to have to work with _Granger_, for an entire two hours. And, _of course, _this just had to be Su's worst class, because Su had never really the sort to look up at the sky; there were more important things on earth for her to focus on. _Wonderful_, Su thought bitterly to herself. _I'm going to look like such an idiot in front of her. No doubt she'll feel so proud of herself for finally being better than me at something. _

Su was determined to ignore her classmate, even if they _did _need to be working together, and even if she _did _need a lot of help finding the fifth moon of Jupiter, because it was super tiny. She wasn't going to ask for help, no matter what happened; Ravenclaws didn't ask for help, because Ravenclaws were supposed to be able to solve their own problems. They had to be smart enough to hold their own, or face the possibility that they _just weren't good enough_. So, Su struggled through several minutes of peering into the telescope, not speaking to the Gryffindor next to her. She could do this on her own, it wasn't that hard.

_Okay_, it was hard. A lot harder than she had thought, because Io, as big as it should have been, was teasingly vacant from the sky. She couldn't seem to locate it, no matter how long she looked, and already, Granger seemed to have found half the damn items on their list. Su was grumbling with frustration as she thought about just tossing the stupid telescope off the roof, when Granger leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. Su gave her a withering glance, but acknowledged the bushy-haired girl's presence.

"Io is over there, Su." She said calmly, pointing upwards, slightly to the left. Su looked into the telescope again, but she didn't see anything but bright spots in the sky, teasing and mocking her. _Idiot_, they jeered. _Can't find Io? Idiot, idiot. _"Here, let me show you," Granger said, moving over to adjust the scope just a bit. She peered into it for a few seconds before looking back at her. "Do you see it now?"

Su peeked into the scope, and scowled, as Io shone brightly down at her, and she expected it to have a leering grin as she balled up her fists. _Granger was right, again. _She was never quite good enough, was she? Never perfect enough, never perfect. Just adequate, just number two. She hated being shown up by Granger, hated having to accept help from the girl. "Thanks for that," she replied, lying through her teeth. Stupid Granger, with her know-it-all nature. Stupid Granger for just being so _damn smart _all the time, even when she didn't study. Stupid Granger for always beating her.

And, watching her smile and continue on in her cheery, helpful manner, it just infuriated Su even more. She was just so _smart_, and so ready to share her knowledge with everyone. Didn't she understand that to hold knowledge, to be so smart-you had to keep this sort of stuff to yourself, to keep a hold on your peers? Yet, Granger was still over there, babbling about all the different moons and their names and positions, helping her locate every single one, not seeming to care at all that Su was mad at her. _That's because she knows she's smarter. _Why was it that Granger seemed so willing to help? _Because she is more intelligent than you are; it makes her feel good_. Though, looking at her, Granger didn't seem to have any secret plans; she looked like a girl happy to give out knowledge.

_Stupid Granger._


	4. My Brave Little Hufflepuff

_**Written for the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum Competition of Awesomeness' (Charms Challenge, Option B, House Hufflepuff, Wand Currently Being Withheld) Please, mods, I'd like to receive my full score. I used the '5 bonus points clause', as well. **_

_**Also written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 278, churning stomach. **_

_**Also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed, using **__**Antidote to Uncommon Poisons – Write about someone who is being healed emotionally. **_

….

Blood red: that was the colour of her hair as it spread over the floor, covering the cobblestone as she lay motionless. Too still to be alive, too calm to be breathing. Your breath hitches as you stare down at her _red, red _hair, and all you can think about is how glad you are it isn't you who is dead. Susan Bones lays spilled over the steps, and all you can do is stare at her lifeless body, wondering when they word had gotten so cruel. When had it become common place for little girls to die alone on the steps, quietly falling into a permanent sleep? You can feel your churning stomach as you back away from her lifeless body. Susan is gone now, and you can't do anything about it except hold in the contents of your stomach and walk away. There is no help for the dead.

Around you is only death and dying, as children and old men fall. You've got your wand in your hand and a harsh smile on your face as you march down the hallway, watching robes fly and voices screech. It is the smile of someone who is not all right anymore, the smile of someone who is falling apart, and trying to keep it together. Mothers are crying out for their sons and daughters, and on you march, occasionally firing curses at anyone who dares get to close. You're mad, mad, _mad_ with grief, and you don't want anyone near you. Men in dark cloaks approach, but you only smile cruelly, disappearing farther into the bowels of the school, knowing they will not follow you. Whispers of names, fallen warriors, echo back at you as you climb one staircase, then another, but you still do not fight. There is no reason for you to draw your wand, they do not need you yet.

Someone ahead cries out in pain, but you do not hurry. There is no reason to hurry, you have nowhere to be. The voice cries out again, louder, and you say 'Wait.' You call out 'I'm coming, wait.', and they fall silent, listening for your approaching footsteps. It's a third year, or at least a very young student, one you don't recognise, an unfamiliar a young boy. He is bloody from head to toe, scratches obvious on his neck. He can't be more than fourteen, yet here he sits, wand clutched in shaky hands. He lets out a whimper in your presence, but again falls silent. There is a hole in his chest, the size of a sickle, blood trickling freely, as well as from his forehead.

"Please." He begs you, and you know it's not just for safety. It's for a hand to hold and a comforting voice and for someone to be there, in case he doesn't make it. _When _he doesn't make it, because this fourteen year old boy seems to know he's not walking away alive. He doesn't care, just looks up at you with pleading brown eyes and says, "Please." So you sit down with him, not sure what else there is to do. You hold his hand and whisper to him and when he cries out, you reassure him. You tell him that he's a strong boy and a brave boy, and you ask him his name.

"Derek," he tells you in a quiet voice that is getting softer all the time. "Derek Lowe." He tells you about his little sister Natalie, and he tells you he's sixteen, older than he looks. He tells you that he is in love with a girl, and that he hates Potions, and he just chatters to you, until his eyes grow dim and his voice goes raspy. Eventually, he falls silent, and you do not leave, because he still breathes shallowly next you, a wisp of a boy. His eyes close soon after, and you get up, kissing his cheek, continuing your journey. He is a dead boy, as dead as Susan, and now he's just another body in a dark hallway, for someone to find. But you do nothing-that is not your division.

….

Emerald green: That's the colour of the spell that ends it all. A quick _Avada Kedavra_, and suddenly, everyone you know is dead. Your mum and your little sisters and your best friend. They're all gone with a quick flash, and you walk away unharmed. Your blood is tainted, they say, but still, you are allowed to go. The dark hooded men smirk at you and taunt you, but you walk away free, because you are tainted, but not as tainted as they are. Your blood is not pure, but your mother's blood is dark with mud. Or, so they tell you, opening the door and telling you to leave before they burn the house down. A mercy, the dark hoods call it, a mercy that they do not kill you there.

You wander the city alone, living on the streets that summer, glad it is rainy, because no one can see you cry. Your churning stomach leads you to alleyways, throwing up over and over, until there is nothing left, and you keep walking. Your jacket grows faded and dirty, and your hair grows long and messy; you sleep on doorsteps and under trees, wherever and whenever you can. You can't go back to school, where Muggleborns and half-bloods are being chased down and hunted, so you let the water fill your boots, you let your ribs show. Winter is the worst, when no one wants to go outside, and there is no number of shirts you could ever wear to keep you warm. The shops close, and there is no one to pinch from. Where you were once merely grubby has now turned into living filth; people turn away from you, disgusted.

Newspapers are your only remaining connection with the Wizarding world, besides your wand. You hang around magical communities, or the Leaky Cauldron, sneaking _The Prophet _from tables, eagerly reading about the war, about the Ministry. You learn of Potter's break-in at the Ministry, you learn of Umbridge's quick promotions up the ladder, you learn that people are dying and _no one cares. _The Aurors are being held back, fired or murdered if they attempt to do anything. The Wizarding world is in chaos, and you are just one young teen, one hungry, dirty teen. Tom, the bartender at the Leaky lets you sleep in the cupboard, and you pay him back by working all day, taking your showers in the rain, or from buckets of dishwater, never quite clean. You listen constantly to Tom's radio, hanging on to every word. Tom becomes your caretaker, a parental figure you are so desperately requiring. Suddenly, you cannot imagine life without this man, who has saved you from a short life on the streets.

On May 1st, you get your big break, when Nigel Wolpert begins screaming "Lightning has struck, I repeat, lightning has struck!" over the radio, calling all able-bodied wizards and witches to come help. One look at Tom, and you know there is nowhere else you can go; he understands, sending you off with a knife and a threat to _come back alive_. Tom sees you off with a furrowed brow, and you wonder what you'll be walking into. He seems to know something you don't about Hogwarts, but you are young and he is too old to fight. You _have _to go, there is just no other option at this point, because you've got no family except Tom, and you're prepared to die for him.

The school is in chaos when you arrive, fires and explosions all around you, screams echoing through the grounds, as the world turns upside down. Spells rain down on all sides, people fall, and the universe shifts, trying to recover from the pain of death. You understand why Tom cries as he sends you off, because Hogwarts is a graveyard now, and all around you are the dead and dying. On you march, wand in one hand, your knife if the other. You're unsteady and scared, but a brave smile is all that is on your pale, pale face. They will not get you, not tonight, the teen with the dirty blood.

….

Sky blue: How is it possible for the sky to be so bright, despite the pain you are still suffering? How is it possible that families are burying their children, yet the sun is so dazzling? It should be raining, the angels should be crying for the deaths of the innocent; the angels, however, do not care for the innocent. You walk from grave to grave, looking at the names carved into fresh stone, and you realise that the angels do not care who lives or dies. They sit high on their lofty clouds, far from the sufferings of people, not caring about those still left in the wake.

You tell Tom you aren't ready to come back, that they need you at Hogwarts. It's true, they need everyone they can to fix the school as soon as possible, but you're also hiding from him. Tom can read you so well, his wise old eyes always taking in your every emotion. If you went back to him, he would know how much you're hurting, and that would hurt him. So you stay at the school longer than they need, and you help more than you thought you could. Walls redone, painting restored, tapestries restitched. Everywhere you look, you see the imperfect attempts at meshing _brand new _with _centuries old_. You fix the school, but you do not fix your crooked heart.

You meet many other people, interesting people. Charlie Weasley, who is quiet but strong. Oliver Woods, who is loud and constantly telling people he knows what to do. A girl named Tabitha Long, who never speaks, only hands over the tools they need. You work alongside these people day and night, reconstructing your beloved castle, knowing you won't be coming back in September. Hogwarts was your school, but it is too different from how you remember; you would never be able to step foot in here again as a student. The others, they look at you funny, but you only smile.

Pretending you are okay is far too easy a task. All that is required is smiling and saying "I'm fine." whenever someone asks you what is wrong. You laugh with Oliver, you pull pranks on Charlie, and you tell Tabitha that she is _too sweet_, but inside, you are breaking, breaking, _breaking. _The others, they can tell, and you know they can tell, but it's easier to just pretend. Admitting something is wrong means having to talk about it, and the war is too fresh in everyone's mind to speak. Instead, you just focus on rebuilding and repairing, your hands keeping your mind numb from the horrors.

Eventually, there is nothing left to do, and you are sent home. There is nowhere else to for you got go but back to Tom. So you run back to him, running into his arms, and finally, after three months, you break down in his arms. You wish there was some sort of Cheering charm he could use on you, but no amount of magic is ever going to heal your broken heart, and you cling to him, your body shaking as you cry into his shoulders. He comforts you as you comforted Derek in the dark hallway; Tom puts you to bed in one of the rooms upstairs, where you sleep for hours, dreaming of dark corridors, and mazes leading only to dead ends and screaming faces.

Your magic grows weak as you lose the will to live, finding it harder and harder to wake up every morning. Wouldn't it just be easier to sleep forever, instead of waking up to fresh pain each day? All you want to do is cry until you are just an empty shell of a person, but Tom will not let you. He feeds you and bathes you and tells you that there _are _reasons to live. (After all, don't you love him? Hadn't you promised to survive?) He keeps you alive, even though you want nothing but to die. Your wand lies unused on your dresser, and you forget that you have magic. The spells you had learned at school slowly leave your head as all you can focus on is the pain of today. It's like becoming a scared first year again, unsure of what you are doing.

….

Blushing pink: You react to Tom's words as he encourages you, and the trickle of water collapses, splashing to the floor. You sigh, watching the stone sparkle with wet, feeling your head pound with the effort of even this simple spell. Your muscles hurt, your head is vibrating, but one look at Tom makes everything seem a little better; Tom is the father you never knew, the grandfather you never met. He chuckles as your failed attempt, which makes your ears go pink again, but he isn't mocking you, that much is obvious.

"Want to try again?" he asks, nodding at the water. His old face breaks into a grin as you shrug, and you are reminded of a walnut, with his bald head. You've told him that before, and it only makes him laugh; Tom seems to always be looking for reasons to laugh. "Go on, then, try again. I'm sure you'll get it this time." You shrug once more, not nearly as confident as he is in your magical talents, or the scraps of what is left. But he looks so determined for you, so certain you will succeed, and you don't want to disappoint him. You raise your wand.

"Aguamenti." You say, just a little louder than before, but you've got Tom's determination and confidence running through your veins, and it's not just a trickle, but a stream, filling up the vase. Tom cheers wildly, yelling excitedly that he just _knew _you could do it. You fill up the vase to the very brim, and grin, as several customers on the floor stare wildly in their direction, wondering what is going on. You don't care, you're too euphoric from your success to care what anyone thinks. _Your magic might be back_, after three months unable to do a thing. Suddenly, you're no longer the uselessly scared child you have been.

"So, my little apprentice, let's try Alohomora, shall we?" Tom asks, going over to lock the door. You frown, more than a little startled. You had hoped that by proving you could do Aguamenti, Tom would give you a break. But he wants you to succeed, he wants you to be able to go past your limit, even if your head is pounding harder than before. "Do it, I know you can. Look at what you just did! Come on, Alohomora, yeah?" Maybe you can do this. Maybe you're smarter and stronger than you ever gave yourself credit for, because the weak little child that you've been these past months appears to be gone now. You're a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs don't give up, and they don't give in.

"Alohomora," you say, pointing your wand at the door, but nothing happens. There is no click of unlocking gears, no sign of the door creaking open. It remains firmly locked, and you frown; the scared child is coming back, bringing with it Susan's blood red hair, and Derek's cold lips. Mum and your sisters, dead on the floor, as men push you away. Suddenly, you're nothing more than a huddled figure on a cold street. You are nothing, you are weak. Why had you ever thought you were good at magic? A half-blood like you could never do anything.

"Don't give up," Tom whispers in your ear, seeing the darkness creeping in. "Don't give up, don't give in. You are stronger than the thoughts in your head, you are braver than that. Don't sleep now, you've still got magic to do. You've still got a life to live; remember, you promised me." You shake your head, because it hurts, and he _must _be wrong; there is no way you are strong enough or brave enough. You're just a scared Hufflepuff. What can you do, besides cry? Tom grabs your shoulders, whispering to you like you whispered to Derek; but this is not staying beside a dying boy, this is encouraging someone to live again. "Go on and do it. Be strong, my Hufflepuff."

"Alohomora."

….

Sunrise yellow: The future is brighter than you had thought it could ever be. You are so much better now than you had thought, so much healthier. The scars on your heart are healing with age, even as new ones are forming. Tom…dead at eighty-seven, has left the Leaky Cauldron in the care of his great-niece, a sweet-faced girl named Hannah, who had always been one year above you at school, also a Hufflepuff. You tell her there is nowhere else to go, and she explains that she couldn't imagine you ever leaving. You are a part of this place now, a familiar face to the hundreds who trek through every year. You have a life now, you have the will to live. Your nightmares are not gone, they never will be, but you are no longer afraid. Pain and loss no longer scares you.

You are a brave Hufflepuff, and you are a scared Hufflepuff. You are a child hiding from the shadows, and you are an adventurer, determined to see tomorrow's sunrise shine through your windows. The smile on your face is not one you have plastered on in an effort to convince those around you that you are happy. It is a true smile of one who has found the will to live, and can't imagine death as something so terrifying. Every day, you are reminded of what happened at Hogwarts, an echo that will never dissipate. How could you forget, when you look in the mirror and see the marks that war has had on you? The scar that leads all the way down your face is a constant reminder to you and everyone else that you almost died; but, how else can you live, other than with the knowledge that you helped change the world?

_The knife misses, and his spell cuts deep into your face, leaving a trail of blood that seeps through your fingers. You howl in pain, a wild, animalistic pain, but he's already on his feet, running. You can't follow, too focused on keep the blood inside of you, even as it spills from your cheek faster than you thought possible. You're not sure which way is up anymore, as the smell of blood hits your nose, and you spin wildly. Someone calls out your name, and you try to turn, seeing feet running. As everything goes black, you smile, ready to die. You are ready, because at least it isn't hurting anymore. _

Hannah smiles at you from her spot by the register, as you move slowly from table to table; somewhere deeper into Diagon Alley, her husband is walking their eldest daughter through the streets as they buy her first wand. You are nearly forty now, separated from that day by twenty-three long years. It seems but a vague memory some days, yet crystal clear at other moments. You sigh as your hands go through the motion of wiping down tables and collecting dishes. Hannah seems blissful in her life, with a happy home and a happy family. She's content with what she has, she's moved on completely, her life appearing to be untroubled by what has happened to her. You've a family of your own, with a little boy and girl waiting for you when you arrive, but even they cannot seem to keep away the darkness. Even when you go home to them, it does not make the scars on your heart and face go away.

It overflows into your mind, the memories of blood and cold lips and dead children. Suddenly, your smile has become fake, a painted emotion on a shattered doll. You gasp, running for the bathroom, as tears overflow. _Depression. _That's what your Muggle doctor calls it. _Survivor's guilt_. Twenty-three years past, and you still can't make it a whole day without cracking. Hannah is at the door, knocking wildly, begging you to open up, but you gag, and your churning stomach leads you to the toilet. You can't help it, throwing up and crying and begging for it to all stop. You are a brave little Hufflepuff, and you are a scared little child.

_My brave little Hufflepuff, why are you crying? _


	5. Definitions of Love

_**For the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum-Wide Competition of Awesomeness' (Potions Challenge, Option B, House Hufflepuff, Wand Currently Being Withheld) Please, mods, may I receive my full score? Using prompts begin, order, "I thought I knew…", end. **_

_**For the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using # 289, little creature. **_

….

_I thought I knew her._

_I was wrong. _

_I thought I knew the definition of love. _

_I was wrong. _

….

Marietta tells me that she loves me, and I tell her the same. But, our love is of a different sort, and I misunderstood what she meant. Because I thought she meant the love shared between two good friends; Marietta, however, meant something else. She tries to kiss me, and I recoil in horror, shocked and terrified. We are sixteen, and I cannot help but be disgusted by the look of lust in her eyes. I slap her, telling her _"Go away, I don't want you. I don't love you like that, I never could. I thought I knew you as my friend, not as someone who kisses girls." _

"_I thought I knew you,", _and that is how my story must always begin. _"I thought I knew you,"_ Not with a confession of sins, or the revelation of a dark secret, but of a whispered phrase that breaks me. Because she's looking at me with pity in her eyes, and nothing to say in response. I can't help but repeat myself, because there is nothing else that can be said. "_I thought I knew you, Marietta." _She looks at me with a pleading look, begging me to love her, but I can't, because I misunderstood what she meant by love.

"_Go away, Marietta. Go away. Our definitions of love don't mean the same thing. You're my friend-you _were _my friend-but I don't want to love you that way." _She is horrified by my disgust with her, trying to understand where we went wrong, where we parted ways in what love meant. Because she is in love with me, another girl, and I could never love her back. She leaves, promising to never come back, and I am almost glad to see her go, glad to see the back of her, because there is no way I could ever love Marietta. There is no way I could ever love another girl.

….

"_I thought I knew you." _–and this is how my story must always end. _"I thought I knew you." _Not with a confession of sins, or the revelation of a dark secret, but of a whispered phrase that breaks me. Because she's looking at me with pity in her eyes, and I know she wants me to pity her, the poor girl who can only feel pity for herself. She's clutching a bundle of wrappings under one arm, and she's begging me to take it. Marietta, a stranger, the same thing I sworn to myself she would never be.

It is not a bundle of wrapping that she carried, but a tiny human girl, not more than a few years old, not old enough to be able to remember her mother, Marietta tells me. A little girl, a little baby girl who carries my name; though she has Marietta's golden curls, her face is unfamiliar-I cannot recognise the father. She shoves little Cho into my arms, begging me to take her, because she can't afford a child, and she doesn't want a child. Marietta, who knows I have always craved a daughter, has brought me one, a three year old girl.

"_Please take her from me, Cho. Please, take her away, take her away. I don't want her, I don't love her, but I know you will. You do not pity me, Cho, but please, have pity, at least, on my daughter. Take her away from me, I don't want her." _I want to say no, I want to tell her there's no way I can just take this child from her, but she's pressing her into my arms, telling her I'm the little girl's Mummy now.

"_I thought I knew you, and I was so terribly wrong." _she says, repeating my own words with a bitter smile. "_I thought I knew you as my very best friend in the whole world, but now I know the truth. I thought I knew what love was, and I thought I was in love with you. I misunderstood what you meant when you said you loved me back, but I understand now. We're not friends, and I understand that, Cho. But I'm asking you as a compassionate person, as someone with a heart, to please take her and raise her as your own. I love you Cho, and I'm asking you to do this as someone who loves you." _

I can't, I can't-that's what I want to say to her; I want her to understand I've got a life and a career now, a husband, and I can't just be taking a little girl from someone who is like a stranger to me now, someone who still loves me. But instead, I find myself saying _"Hand her over, then. I'll take her." _Marietta hands her to me, smiling, swearing she knew this would happen. She knows I cannot love her, but she is confident I can love her child.

The little creature coos up at me, and I am instantly hooked. _"You named her after me? Do you think she'll love me?" _

"_I named her after you, because I loved you. You know I did, and I always will, even if you don't love me back. I hope you can love her, though, the way you never could for me."_

"_I thought I knew you." _–and this is how my story must always end. _"I thought I knew you." _Not with a confession of sins, or the revelation of a dark secret, but of a whispered phrase that breaks me. Because she's looking at me with happiness in her eyes, and I know she has no pity for herself left anymore. I shut the door, with Marietta on side, and a child on the other, separated by wood, and separated by more. A girl I had I thought I could never love, and the child I had fallen so deeply for.


	6. The Girl Who Learned to Fly

_**For the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum-Wide Competition of Awesomeness' (Flying Challenge, Option B, House Hufflepuff, Wand Currently Being Withheld) Please, mods, my full score. Using prompts: **_Red, notes, book, different, learn, without, hands, new, warm, fly.

_**For the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 274, starting from scratch. **_

_**For the 'Ten times Ten Challenge' by Utlaga, using emotion: friendship. **_

….

When I wake up, it's to a red wall of nothingness. Red sheets and red curtains and red hair curling around my wrists, long and tangled. The colour screams out at me, demanding attention, and I comply, breathing heavily. I'm so confused, bewildered as to how I got here, on this unfamiliar bed. I blink, and the red disappears, fading into softer colours of yellow, and I begin to wonder why I would have ever thought such pretty colours were so loud only moments before.

There are books on a desk next to my bed, and I pull myself up slowly, moving towards the books with curiosity. They don't look familiar, yet I feel as if I ought to know them, ought to recognise the titles that are printed with fading gold. Titles like _Advanced Potion-Making _and _Confronting the Faceless_, title that don't mean anything much to me, yet I pick one up and flip through it anyway, as if I have done this a million times before. It contains pictures of werewolves and different stages of the moon, which I don't understand, and I drop the book back down on the stack.

I look down at my hands, wondering why they look so strange, when a young girl comes in. If I had to guess, she's probably fifteen or so, with long brown hair-prettier than my tangled red-and a smile. She seems shy, hesitant even, as she comes over, a bouquet in her hands. _Daisies. _The word flickers through my mind before I can even process what's happening. This girl seems familiar, like I ought to know her, but at the same time, she is as unfamiliar as the freckles on my hand, two pale strange things that I don't recognise. Just like everything around me, my hands, this girl, this room-a hodge podge of unfamiliar things; it frightens me.

"Hey, Su." The girl says, handing me the flowers-_daisies-_smiling shyly at me. She has pretty blue eyes, I note, and a happy face. "It's nice to see you up and awake. I know it's been hard these past few days, without being able to get out of bed, but Madame Pomfrey says you seem to be getting better." My face must register horror or shock, because she immediately begins to stammer, attempting to explain. "You know, what with the flying accident two weeks ago? You f-fell off your broom, Su? Don't tell me you don't remember?" Without even the traces of a smile anymore, the girl begins to cry, and all I can do is look on, confused.

"What's going on, Su? What's happened?" the girl asks me, sobbing. I have no answer for her, my heart plummeting as I realise, she too, has no idea what's going on, why I am without memories all of the sudden.

…..

It is interesting, the life I have become used to. Things flit in and out of my mind constantly, thoughts and names and words. I struggle to hold on to the things I learn each day, struggle to remind myself of things I learned yesterday and the day before. People, lessons, all are a new learning experience for me, a twisting, winding road full of experimental paths. I never quite recall what I learned, nor do I remember the day I fell off my broom, but I can't complain much, not with good friends like Hannah learning along with me. I'm starting from scratch, but I'm not alone.

"Ready?" Hannah asks, her hands warm as they hold mine. I've forgotten my gloves, most likely having left them upstairs, and I don't want to waste her time by rushing upstairs to get them. Hannah's pretty brown hair is done up into two long braids, and her warm hands grip mine tightly, as if she's trying to transfer the heat in her to me, as if that will help me recover faster. "It's time to go out, Su." I try not to grimace, knowing Hannah doesn't mean to be condescending. Most people don't, they're just trying to be helpful. It's hard, I know, dealing with someone who struggles to create memories, like me.

I've been healing these last few months, I've been learning to live my life like everything is new. It's hard sometimes, when an 'old friend' isn't someone I recall, or when I have to relearn a lesson several times over. Everything is new to me, everything seems to be happening too fast, and I can't recall meeting new people or experiencing new things. Already, I can tell Hannah is exasperated with me as she leads me down the stairs to the Quidditch pitch. I wonder if I have forgotten what we are doing today already.

I have notebooks, entire journals filled with details notes to help me remember, to help me. Notes about who I am as a person, notes about my friends. Notes about life, notes about my likes and dislikes. I live, sometimes, through these journals, because otherwise, it's hard to cope with my situation. Today is the first day I'll be allowed back on my broom since my fall, and I've already written all about it, notes and notes, pages and pages about how I feel, what I think will happen. Hannah seems excited that I'm recovering, even if it makes me nervous.

Everything is so different from how it used to be, before I fell and hurt myself. People react differently to me, and I seem to be a different person than I once was. I'm still the nice, helpful person I was, but I'm more impatient, more likely to cry. It's hard, getting used to all these different changes in my life, and it's wonderful that I have such great friends like Hannah to keep me sane and to keep me on track. I think I'd go mad without her, having to constantly be faced with different, difficult new challenges every day.

I turn to Hannah, a smile on my face, a broom in my hand. She looks so happy, so carefree, as if there are no problems in the world, no war bubbling on the horizon. We're just two young girls who are best friends, and there's no reason to panic. I laugh as Hannah does a handstand, whooping loudly with excitement. The ecstatic look on her face tells me she's just as happy as I feel, just as open and free. One leg wrapped around my broom-which feels _so _familiar now that I wonder how I could have ever forgotten-and I kick off, flying into the air.

Susan Bones, the girl who learned to fly.


	7. Blame Fay

_**Written for the 'Summer 2013 Wizarding Modly Forum-Wide Competition of Awesomeness' (Surprise Duelling Challenge, Lost Duel Option, House Hufflepuff, Wand made of Willow with a core of Kneazle Whiskers, 10 7/8 long) Using prompts: **__Heat, determined, box, charm, first impression, see, 21st, wall, uneasy silence, fight _

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 118, silence. **_

_**Written for the 'Ten times Ten Challenge' by Utlaga, using adjective: sudden. **_

….

There was an uneasy silence filling up the air as Fay watched the two men step closer. They seemed to be arguing loudly about something-a girl, perhaps-and she could see clenched fists and angry faces; they looked about ready to fight, and Fay wanted nothing but to leave now, before things got too bad. She wasn't big on fights, and Fay knew, as the only person around, if something were to happen, she'd probably be blamed for it all. It was the same sort of thing that had been happening to her for ages: things went wrong, blame Fay.

She turned around, walking off as quickly as possible, ignoring the sudden, shouted words behind her as the two men began shoving and pushing, definitely rearing for a fight now. She slipped off with hunched shoulders and a pinched expression, trying to hold herself together, trying to ignore the screaming behind her as one of the men fell to the ground, the other clutching a knife in his hand. After all, she didn't know them-she wasn't to blame if something happened, right? Fay turned the corner, still trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing by walking away. After all, she wasn't at fault, she wasn't to blame.

"_Don't get wrapped up in other people's lives,_" her mother might have said if she was here, except Fay's mother was living in Sweden now, away from her old family, run off with her weird boyfriend. And so Fay, who still listened to her mother's voice even when she wasn't around, walked on. She was used to being blamed for things, and she didn't want to be involved in yet another mess like this. _(She didn't want to talk to any police men, not after what had happened.) _Fay was a good girl, well-behaved now, at twenty-two. Twenty-two…..it was 2000 already, and Fay didn't feel like she'd done much with her life except abandon her family for the Muggle world.

Just then, as she was turning under a poorly lit street lamp near the town's train station, Fay ran into another person. A girl, actually, who wasn't much older than Fay herself, though it was hard to judger her exact age considering the tired, stressed look in her eyes. She was carrying a box in her hands and seemed slightly annoyed, but not at Fay. Fay apologised profusely, begging for forgiveness while her cheeks flamed pink with the heat of embarrassment, but the girl only shrugged it off, acting like it was no big deal. As she turned to leave, Fay saw the wand in her pocket and almost screamed with delight. It had been two years since the last time she'd seen a witch or wizard, and now she'd run into one right here, in the middle of a Muggle town.

"You're a witch, aren't you?" she asked excitedly, pointing towards the girl's pocket. "So am I! I don't think we've met, but I'm Fay Dunbar. I graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago, a Gryffindor. It's so nice to see another witch here; this whole town's full of Muggles, and sometimes it gets terribly lonely pretending you're one of them, you know." She chattered on excitedly, leaning against a dirty brick wall as the girl just stood there, peering past Fay towards the tracks, as if she was waiting for something-a train, no doubt, though Fay wasn't sure why she didn't just Apparate.

"Oh, hey," the girl said, and Fay smiled with what she hoped was charm and not just desperation. She'd been living amongst Muggles for the past few years, but it was obvious this girl was magic, and Fay was curious to see if she could make a new friend in this vague stranger. The girl, however, didn't seem to be interested in Fay, having already looked past her, searching for the train. Fay sighed to herself; it was the 21st century, and people were still going to be rude, regardless of the circumstances. Fay, however, was determined to make a good first impression on this girl, regardless of how rude she was, hoping that she might be able to make a new friend of this stranger, who was still looking around for the non-existent train.

"This station's been closed for years, by the way," Fay explained helpfully to the girl, who only gave her a startled look, scowling sharply. Fay looked away for a moment, not paying any attention to the girl, her mind still a little numb from the two guys earlier. "There haven't been any trains through this place for fifteen years at least, in case you were waiting for one. You could always Apparate, though." Fay didn't notice the girl taking her wand from her pocket, pointing at herself with shaking hands. However, she did see the green light and hear the final words of this stranger, a whispered _"Good bye." _

Fay stared as the girl slumped to the ground, her limp body falling like a ragdoll. Her head lolled about on bony shoulders and Fay screamed suddenly, a pitchy sound as she watched her eyes go blank. She stared at the girl, who had once been pretty, but now just looked like an empty piece of nothing, just another piece of garbage near an abandoned train station. She nearly screamed again, stifling the sound with a covered hand, sobbing loudly. All she could see was this girl's lifeless face, mixed with the memory of her brother, falling to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Fay knew it was a ridiculous thought, but it flitted through her mind that maybe this was Fay's fault. She ought to have saved the girl.

_Was her death Fay's fault, as her brother's had been, as everything always seemed to be? _

….

_**Okay, I think I might have to explain just a little bit. See, the reason Fay reacts so strongly to the girl's death is that when (in my headcannon, at least) she was 12, her brother killed herself, and she's never quite gotten over it. And, as a result of his death, her parent's broke up and her mum moved to Sweden two years later with her boyfriend. **_

_**The girl who killed herself? I'm not quite sure…it might have been Marietta Edgecombe, I think-you know, the Ravenclaw who betrayed the D.A. If you've read some of my other stuff, I've mentioned that Marietta has a daughter that she later abandons and eventually does kill herself. **_


End file.
